R.I.P. Shark

Yesterday at approximately 6:25 PM, The Shark left this world. The non-muddy-creek-world, I mean. My favorite disc sunk.

The Shark was my first disc. I bought it because the guy at the nerdy comic book/disc golf store said, "Any of these would be good for a beginner." I chose the pink one. The pink Shark. It was a smart purchase. The Shark could soar, could curve, could plop in the disc golf hole like nobody's business.

But last night, at hole 14 of the wildly confusing Riverside Park Disc Golf Course, Oats threw The Shark into a creek. Now, I don't blame Oats. I don't blame Oats at all. Sometimes, a disc ends up in the water. That's how the world works. If Oats didn't throw into a creek, I might have. Heck, YOU might have! And then you'd feel bad, wouldn't you?

So anyway, Oats threw The Shark into the creek. The Shark was probably all like, "Water! I will swim in it because I am a shark!" Little did the disc know that the creek is uninhabitable to sharks.

The pink disc of glory rested on the creek's edge, under a mess of thorns and pain. Our course acquaintances sent Cocoa, the brilliant chocolate lab, to get the disc. "Cocoa, dive! Cocoa, it's right there! Go get it!" And after several minutes of disc hunting, Cocoa still couldn't grasp The Shark in her chocolate lab jaws. (It should be noted that Cocoa knows the names of different neighbors and can, on command, go to certain homes and return with a can of soda.)

Finally, I rolled up my plaid shorts and ventured in myself. Oats and Cocoa's dad helped me balance as I sunk into the ooze. Oats kept saying, "It's right there! We just saw it!" And I wooshed through the water and pulled up roots and received scratches on my arms and said, "Oats! It's not here!"

"Keep looking! The gospel this morning was about never giving up." Oats is a good Catholic. He's not a good disc finder.

"Oats, Jesus would not spend this much time looking for The Shark."

"Jesus would, too. Keep looking." So I looked more. And gave up and climbed out. The acquaintances and Cocoa moved onto the next hole. Oats talked me into going back into the creek. I did. No Shark. Got out again. Complained. Got back in. Still no Shark. Oats kept telling me to look harder.

"Oats! I am in the creek, not you! If you're so set on finding The Shark, you get in!" I roared. "You're stubborn," said Oats. Are you kidding, Oats? Are you covered in mud like me, Oats?

Finally, we said our goodbyes to The Shark and moped on back to the truck. Dinner was waiting for us at 7:00, and we didn't want to finish the last few holes with mud encrusted legs and one disc.

One day, global climate change may take its toll on the Riverside Park Disc Golf Course and the creek will dry up. The Shark may be tucked into a jumble of once-underwater blackberry roots and some joyful eleven-year-old will find my favorite disc.

Until then, Shark, may you live on in our hearts and blogs.